Break Ups and Fix Ups
by WickedWitch1313
Summary: Fixing a heart is tricky business, so many things can go wrong. Erica strives to repair the seemingly irreparable damage to her own, broken organ and that of the girl she loved. Callica.
1. Prolouge: Love Coverage

_DISCLAIMER: Not my characters, nor my settings. Most if not all (I can't promise as the story progresses) the relationships featured in this piece of fanfiction were developed on screen. All rights, therefore go to whomsoever deserves them: Shonda Rhimes namely._

_A/N: This is my first ever Grey's Anatomy story so bear with me. This is also the first female pairing story I am writing so keep that in mind as well. Do us the favor though and if it does offend you, don't read it. I'm not a big fan of hate mail. On that happy note: enjoy!_

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_On another note, you will have noticed the incredible brevity of this first installment. Fear not, however, my kind fanfictioners! I decided that in light of this being a Grey's Anatomy piece, I would pay homage to the tradition of opening monolouges. I tried to fashion it in the mindset that were it actually spoken by a Grey's character, it would be Meredith speaking. I originally considered writing it for Erica's character but it seemed far more appropriate for Mer to speak it as she is the key monolouge-er. _

There is no insurance policy on relationships; no discount on the pain thresholds of the human heart. When you get hurt, you don't get to shove the costs aside onto some bipartisan, third-party company invested in your safety and comfort as long as you return the favor with money. You don't get that. Instead, when you're heart breaks into a thousand tiny pieces, when it is cleaved in two, you deal with the pain. You're stuck. You are entirely responsible for handling whatever excruciatingly agonizing feelings you might encounter along your road to heartache. Sure, you can be sympathized or empathized and you can do therapy to "figure out the pain" but for all intents and purposes, you are alone to wallow in your own discomfort.

Still, despite the consequences, the risks, the inevitable costs; we still continue loving. We still, time after time, hand out our hearts to those we love and trust. Sometimes—rarely—our hearts are given back to us whole and healthy. For whatever reason it was being returned, it was done so in a fashion both congenial and benign. Most of the time, however, we must concede to that inescapable fate before us that each time we lose our hearts and heads for someone, it will only end in sadness. When that happens, your heart is chipped, broken by loss.

Once we realize that hard truth, we begin to grow, to love freely, and to freely hand over our hearts to our loves—whoever they may be. Once we figure out all that fuzzy stuff, we can begin to alleviate the pain.

XXX

_A/N 2: A short chapter but still...Reviews are lovely._


	2. Running Out Of Time

_A/N: So, here it is! And, it is not 200-some words, might I add. Okay, so on our plate today, we have a bit of Erica and Callie POVs. I think it's beyond obvious which is which. This is set the morning after the break up. Anyway, do enjoy._

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Erica Hahn bent over the heavy cardboard box, blinking furiously o stop the impending tears that threatened to break loose. Her once-furnished apartment was now nothing but a maze of cardboard, tape and emptiness. It felt to her as though with each box she filled full of trivial items collected or kept, a piece of her soul was also being shoved away, hidden beneath this last weeks article of Times magazine or a figurine she received as a birthday present from her brother last year. And every time she reached for a trinket of some sort that reminded her of Seattle, anything that still had threads of memory connecting her to… to Callie. Her eyes stung once more.

She was stronger than this. She was _better_ than this. She had been through relationships that had ended badly. Relationships, might she add, that had lasted a whole lot longer than this stint. And, just as before, she would handle this one rationally and stoically.

'_So why are you moving away?'_ came the dreaded voice of reason from within her head. Erica scowled. She did not need this right now. Things were hard enough as it was. She had no need for her conscious to take a hold of her—now of all times—and wreck the perfectly clean exit she had planned.

Erica took a deep breath. She could do this, she had to. With one last moment to compose herself, she began to pack more of her belongings into the black pit of boxes.

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Callie woke up on her side of the bed slowly. Her eyes were dry and irritated—the telltale sign of having cried herself to sleep. The previous evenings events flooded back to her, bringing a new wave of misery with them. She didn't know what she had done wrong. What had she said? It didn't make any sense. There were things they had disagreed about before and, as before, they should have been able to get over it. All they had to do was talk… Of course, Callie had to admit to herself, she had hardly talked to Erica since their relationship had come into bloom. They had devolved. Callie had backed away, pulling against Erica's wishes the whole time. Despite her constant claims of happiness, Callie had no doubt that Erica had been all the wiser. Hell, Callie had left after they had had sex! Who did that? After Erica's revelation and her self-accepting speech of understanding, Callie hadn't known what to do. Sure, she'd loved it the second time around. Once she had figured out what was happening; once she had gotten over the whole chick thing, then it had been great. But then it had been all _Eureka!_ for Erica and she began to see leaves… Callie was scared. She wasn't seeing leaves or glasses or whatever the hell had been going on. She'd had fun sure, she'd enjoyed herself. But, she hadn't 'seen the light.' She hadn't felt a change come over her. She hadn't had a realization regarding her sexuality. In fact, as far as she had been concerned, Erica was just an anomaly. She didn't like girls… she'd never… But Callie knew now. She had the revelation. It was different than Erica's, granted, but it was a revelation nonetheless. She had realized, as soon as Erica had left last night, as soon as she saw her disappearing across the pavement and she had felt that heart-wrenching feeling of having something you love torn from grasp. Then it hit her. And it was too late.

Or was it?

Callie dove for her cell phone on her nightstand, frantically pressing her #1 on speed dial.

"C'mon, pick up. Pick up!" She muttered, wiping away all her residual tears and pacing the length of the bedroom. Her eyes combed the ceiling, praying with all herself to have Erica pick up the effing phone. Her heart was beating double time, pounding in her chest. Her breath, too, was irregular, coming out in sporadic, sharp bursts.

After two rings, the phone went to voicemail. Callie's heart sank and a strange empty feeling washed over her. She was ignoring her calls. She didn't want to talk to Callie. Or hear from her. Or see her. Or have anything to do with her. Callie shook her head. She didn't need that. She needed to keep focused. She could deal with her own meltdown after. She waited impatiently for Erica's recorded message to end. The sound of her voice sent daggers though Callie's heart while still succeeding to give her stomach butterflies. After Erica finished, the computerized woman's voice came into play. Generic and static-y, she explained the well known rules on how one records phone messages. Callie felt her teeth grind together in irritation. C'mon! Play the goddamn—

The sharp tone sounded, cueing her to speak. She jumped and stumbled through a message.

"Erica! Listen, it's uh Callie. Of course, you know that… but, um… Look, I'm really sorry about last night. I don't know what I did to you or what I said wrong but if we just talk it through, maybe…" Callie paused, squeezing her eyes shut. She sounded whiny, pathetic, weak; even to her own ears. God, why did this woman drive her so nuts? "Erica, I know you're ignoring this call. I know you're there. If you don't pick up this phone, I'll…" She winced. Now she was yelling at her! Erica would never answer to anger; it was just as bad if not worse than self-pity. "Erica," She began again, her voice calm and faintly unsteady, "Erica, I love you. I do." She let loose her held breath with a small laugh. She'd said it: the thing that seemed so hard to say, the thing that had her head reeling and confused and irrational. She'd said it. "I love you. God, I don't know why I didn't know that before. I guess I didn't think I did love you because you were—are—a woman and I didn't think I could love a woman because I wasn't gay. At all. And… I was scared. I was terrified actually. The last time I felt this way… well, I didn't feel this way, I guess, not exactly anyway. I mean, George hurt me. I gave him everything and he broke everything. Then you came along and you're beautiful and wonderful and you put me back together. You helped to heal me. But I was scared. I thought I was crazy or that my mind was not under control… I don't know. I was confused. I'd never felt _this_ strongly about George. Never. He was great, and I loved him the way I thought I should love him but I didn't have… this. This thing we have it's great. Its—"

Callie was cut off by another shrill BEEP as the computerized woman kicked in to inform her that she had run out of time. Callie shut her eyes tightly, willing away the pain. Now she had to wait. She hated waiting, especially when waiting entailed scary, important, life-changing things. Of course, if Erica had picked up her fucking phone then she wouldn't have had to wait! Callie groaned and threw her phone—a little too exuberantly—to the opposite corner of the room. She groaned again upon hearing the loud clatter the phone made as it came into contact with the wall, leaving a faint dent in the wall.

She let herself fall back onto her bed, face-first. She had run out of time alright, in more ways than one.

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_A/N 2: I hope you got the personality switch. If not, tell me. If so, tell me anyway. Reviews are great that way. ;)_


	3. The Right Woman

_A/N: Hey again! Sorry for the day of delay, we had a major tornado and the power (including wifi) is down so I'm stealing the wifi of some insignificant rest stop store. Anyway, here we are: chapter 2! In this we go back for a little musing time with Erica. Enjoy!_

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Erica stared at the ringing phone in her hands in a mixture of confusion and want and hurt. She longed to answer it, to hear Callie's voice and to correct every mistake in their relationship. She wanted to fix it. She wanted things to be alright again and yet, she didn't. She hated that Callie had slept with Mark, that Callie no longer saw Erica as a friend, as someone she could talk to. She abhorred that of everyone around Callie had to go to Mark Sloan for emotional advice. It was notwithstanding, of course that the infamous sleazebag Mark Sloan had the emotional range of a thimble. Erica had racked her mind over and over again as to why Callie would ever pick him over her. Perhaps it was the pretty-boy physique or the lying, charm that oozed from his pores in copious, hormonal floods. Or maybe, it was due to his anatomical advantage: his penis. That mere thought made her sick. She hadn't signed on for this. She hadn't wanted to _share_ Callie. She'd loved her… She _did_ love her. That hadn't changed. She looked back down at the ringing phone with a heavy heart. She couldn't do this. She couldn't constantly wonder or question or worry about Callie's loyalty or her nervous break downs. It was too much. She couldn't carry their relationship solely on her shoulders. She couldn't do it alone. The phone rang a second time. She took a deep breath, the lump in throat constricted and her eyes burned. She pressed "ignore call" with a heavy heart. The ringing stopped.

Erica held back a sob. That was it. It was over. Callie was smart; she would notice the shortage of rings and realize that she was purposely being ignored. Hopefully, it would anger her enough to stopper any other thoughts of calling her. Because Erica knew that if Callie called again, she probably wouldn't be able to help but answer it. Erica never could resist Callie, and she highly doubted that that had changed.

As Erica looked back at box after box of packed belongings, it hit her. She was running away.

She was _running away_.

Erica Hahn never ran away; not from surgeries, not from men, not from jobs. It seemed incalculably ironic to her that in being such a strong, successful woman, she was still just as vulnerable as the next girl. She was fighting tears for God's sake, _tears_. Erica Hahn did not cry. Of course, Erica noted grimly, she had never allowed herself to enter into the position where she would ever be inclined to do so.

She remembered something her brother had told her back when they were in their numerous college years; back when life hadn't been so painfully bleak. "You just wait, Erica. You just wait. Love is gonna be great. When the right woman comes along for me, I'll know. My heart will explode in my chest and then I'll call you in to fix it."

She had laughed at him then. She'd thought she was so smart; explaining just exactly how ridiculous it was to think your heart would explode from love. God, she'd been so clueless back then. Though, really, how was that any different from now? Here she was, too scared to do the one thing she wanted more than anything before; the one thing she knew she would regret not doing for the rest of her life. She remembered that day both fondly and sadly. She had thought it was so impossible…

But he had been right. Loving Callie was like running through fire: passionate, exciting, hot, breath-taking… painful. Her heart had exploded in her chest. It had jumped and leapt and left her chest. She had willingly, _eagerly_ given that heart to Callie. She had given her love, her self, her whole being to Callie and it had been bliss.

"_When the right woman comes around for me…"_

Well she had. She had arrived with all the bells and whistles that were supposed to appear with this sort of thing. She had been perfect and not perfect all at once—which, in a way, was perfection. She had been the essence of seduction and allure and hope and love and happiness. She had turned Erica's world upside down and what did Erica have to show for it?

She mentally backed down again. She knew, logically, that her toxic and wonderful relationship with Callie had done more good than it had bad, retrospectively. But now, now it hurt too much. Right now, she had to hate her unrelenting love for Callie; that irrational, impossible love that wouldn't let go of her; that love that wouldn't allow hatred to come into play. Because, what Erica felt right now made her want to hate Callie. It made her need that morbid release that comes with cutting someone painful from your life.

"Damn it," she said, the quiet curse sounding magnified in the utter silence of the room. She sighed, glaring at her ceilings, her walls, everything; searching for something onto which she could project her pent up anger. With a final unaccommodating look of anger, Erica gave up, favoring to fall unceremoniously onto her stripped mattress.

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_A/N 2: There you are. Reviews are lovely and kind and make me feel all warm and fuzzy and most importantly, inspired! And on that happy note, much thanks to Permanent Rose and wimberg for their lovely tidbits. :)_


	4. The Wicked Witch Is Dead

_A/N: Surprise! I finished typing this one early so I thought I'd give a consolation prize what with my possible inability to upload for a few days. Anywho: this is going to introduce a new POV. Christina! She cracks me up between her social awkwardness and her completely random comments. So, this is my impression of how her mind would work. Enjoy!_

_XXX_

Christina Yang shot an irritated glare at Sadie as she neared the doors of Seattle Grace when it hit her.

Erica Hahn was gone.

She could have skipped with elation only; it seemed foolish to do so. Still, the surly doctor that had taken a personal dislike to Yang was off the register, out of commission, and vanished from the Hospital grounds. Finally, Christina would get to work under a cardio-god that was worthy of her skills and talent. Gone were the days that she would be forced to fight for a spot in a surgery in _her_ specialty field. Gone were the endless hours of badgering Webber for her immediate transfer. Gone was the grueling, striving yearn for acceptance that would burn holes in her stomach each time she spotted Hahn in the hospital. It was all going to be good now. Her dark clouds of doubt surrounding the cardio wings were to be dispersed and alleviated. She was saved!

Still, Erica Hahn had, indeed, been the best cardiothoracic surgeon to roam the halls of Seattle Grace in a long while. Burke didn't count. He was a pig. But Hahn: there was a cardio-god. There was someone who could navigate the intricate tunnels and blood passages of the human heart with poise and precision. That was someone she could have learned from. Or, she could have had Hahn ever let her near a cardio-centric surgery, let alone near Hahn herself. Christina had fought so hard to get on Erica's good side. She'd sucked up like the best of them. She'd thought that with her surgical abilities—none of which, might she say, were ever before disputed—would have earned her the right of serving beside Hahn. But, no. No, Christina had been shoved aside; pushed away to cater to the sick and twisted whims of Erica's own dark mind.

While it made her sick, it also increased the longing for Hahn's approval all the more.

Of course, she had never fully understood the merit behind Hahn's evident aversion to her. It wasn't (apparently) because she was Asian. Hahn had explained that much. Any of the rest of the conversation had slipped past Christina's ear. Hahn hadn't been focused much, of course, she kept watching for Callie.

Why was it that Callie Torres; brash, bone-crushing, emotionally broken Callie was able to whip up a friendship with Erica Hahn at the drop of a hat? Christina had watched them every once in awhile on the evenings when Hahn would frequent the apartment, bringing a bottle of expensive wine. She and Callie could talk for hours about virtually nothing or anything, whatever struck their fancy. It seemed so easy for Callie to simple suggest an idea that would consequently send them into a raucous round of laughter. It made no sense. She'd seen them laughing together, seen the easy, comfortable physical contact they'd established. Was that the problem? Was it that Christina didn't like to touch people; that she didn't hold much stock in physical signs of friendship? But that couldn't be it. She'd also seen the cold, disconnected way Hahn acted toward anyone else in the hospital. She didn't touch people either. Christina had also witnessed the cool, indiscreet suggestions Callie made; suggestions that were so uncharacteristic for someone of the likes of Erica Hahn to agree to that it seemed ridiculous for Callie to even ask. But Erica _did_ agree. She did go clubbing, she would go get pizza. It seemed that anything Callie wanted, Hahn gave her. Christina would pay money for those kinds of privileges. Yet, even with her brilliant mind reeling at top speeds, Christina could not, for the life of her, figure out just what it was that made those same principal tactics that fell flat on the ground for Christina work so brilliantly for Callie. What did Callie have that she, Dr. Yang, cardio-expert in the making, didn't? What was it that she had to do to gain that close-knit relationship with Dr. Hahn?

But, that was over with. She didn't have to impress the cardio mistress or strive for any sort of boundary-breaking friendship anymore. Hahn had gone. The Wicked Witch was dead at last… metaphorically, of course.

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Christina looked over at Callie as she entered the fray of waiting surgeons, struggling to tie on her surgical gown. Now was the time she could ask the one question that had been burning inside her since she first encountered Callie that morning in the locker room. Why _had_ Hahn left? Christina knew she should just drop it and be grateful for the blessing of her departure but she couldn't help but wonder. And Callie was the one person in the hospital she knew could tell her.

She darted over, taking the ties of the gown from Callie and tying them the preferred way. As she took her time with the knot, she posed the question as nonchalantly as possible.

"Hey, what do you know about Hahn?"

The minute the words left her mouth saw Callie tense, locking every muscle in defense. Christina's eyes brightened. Callie knew something! But, of course she did. Erica and Callie were like Christina and Mer: closer than close. Undoubtedly, Erica had asked Callie to hush up about the whole leaving thing or transfer or resignation or whatever the hell had made her go. That would explain the way Callie was pushing away, taking over the job of tightening her surgical garb. She muttered a terse reply, coldly denying any knowledge. As if! Christina took pride in her ability to know when things were being hidden from her; more so, in fact, in her ability to wheedle said information out of them.

She let the avoidance tactic slide, focusing instead on the ambulance speeding them. Now was surgery time. And in her book, surgery came before gossip.

XXX

_A/N 2: As a post chapter disclaimer: Christina's line is straight from the episode and not my work. _

_Reviews are fabulous. :)_


	5. Her Glasses

_A/N: Turns out, our generator allows internet access just fine. Peachy keen! Okay, fourth chapter (or fifth, if you count the prolouge as a chapter). We return with Erica, standing in line in the terminal. Enjoy:_

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Erica stood in line at the airport, tapping her foot impatiently against the blandly tiled floor. She needed to get out of there fast; before any of the guilt she had bubbling up inside her forced her to do something regrettable. Something like going back to Callie and begging for forgiveness on her hands and knees.

_Something regrettable or something right?_ asked that irritatingly logical voice.

Erica closed her eyes slowly. She was so tired of this doubt, of the confusion. She had always been one-hundred percent sure of her actions. She was a confident person as she had earned her right to be. She didn't play around with things, she just did what was needed of her and she did that with the utmost confidence and precision. That was her that was how she functioned. She mind reeled at the uncharacteristic way she had been acting and dealing with things as of late. It made no sense. Why would she change personalities and mindsets?

_Well, why do you think?_ She asked herself.

Erica gritted her teeth. She was loathing the voice more and more. She was sure that were it to continue, she would ask Shepherd for a lobotomy.

But, she couldn't ask Shepherd. She didn't work at Seattle Grace anymore. She had quit. She had run. She was a coward. Shame burst in her cheeks, flooding them with red. A coward. She was unaccustomed to that idea. Even in school, even as she'd thought out each move she made carefully, she hadn't backed down. She had taken risks; risks that had gotten her to where she was now. She was successful. She'd made her place among the prominent, talented surgeons of the world and she had rightfully earned it. She knew that. She knew that section of her life like the back of her hand. She understood it. She didn't understand this; the leaving, the irrational actions, the jumpy behavior, the second guessing. It was all so wrong for her. She wasn't jumpy, she couldn't be. She was a cardiothoracic surgeon. She had to be steady and strong and graceful. She was never irrational, either, having thought out every move ahead of time since she could think on her own. And, she never second-guessed herself. Ever.

Until Callie.

The whole relationship had been a dizzying whirlwind. She'd thought she had a friend, just a friend. Granted, even a friend was big news for Erica. She didn't come by them too often. People said she was cold, unfeeling, disconnected and inhuman. And that was just scraping the surface of the rumors people whispered viciously behind her back. But, not Callie. Callie would never say something like that. She'd ever defended Erica from Yang, a feat which some friends might discard as old hat but one with which Erica was unaccustomed. When Callie had come along, things had been so drastically different that even the steady, confident Erica Hahn had lost her footing, even if just for a moment. She had been plagued with thoughts of Callie; thoughts that she shouldn't have been having about a friend. It hadn't made any sense. She had had friends before, granted none so close or so in tune with her as Callie but friends nonetheless. And, towards those friends, she had never experienced such romantic inclinations. She hadn't really understood them. She supposed that's what she had meant with the glasses comment. She had never thought of glasses, never considered them. She hadn't thought she'd needed them, despite the insisting of her doctors or the obvious blindness she was experiencing. That was the one time in her life she'd ever been so blind—both metaphorically and physically—to life as it was right in from of her. She was so certain of herself, her sight, that it was unthinkable that she would need something so trivial as glasses. But, she'd indulged in them anyway, as needless as she had thought they were. And, much to her surprise, they had worked! They had improved everything in her life; every image was sharper, every color was more vibrant, every level of light more distinct. That was Callie: her glasses. Callie had made everything sharper and more alive. Everything had been brighter.

Erica shook her head. She didn't need this right now. She needed to get back that strong, indifferent persona. She needed to remember why she was here and not with… No, no, no. Come back now. She had to come back. Callie and Mark. Callie siding with Stevens. Callie not talking to her. That was what she needed to think about, not the good parts. If she focused on the good side: the dinners, the laughter, the happiness; she would turn around.

_Would it really be that bad, to go back?_

No! She needed to get her head together. She needed… she needed hard liquor was what. Normally, Erica drew the line at fine wines but tonight she would gladly accept anything strong enough to drown out those thoughts and memories that kept torturing her. She needed to get rid of that goddamn _voice_.

She sighed loudly, checking her watch. The departure time that blinked before her on a dusty monitor was not far off and yet, what with the glacial pace with which the line was moving, she doubted they would take off anytime soon.

God, she needed booze.

XXX

_A/N 2: Reviews are fabulous, by the way._


	6. Mark to the Rescue

_A/N: I officially finished writing this whole story so it only has to be typed up to be done. I will be sad to be rid of it though, it flowed surprisingly well..._

_Introducing into the fray we have Mark Sloan! I know he was in the other chapter but now we have his POV-for the second part of the chapter at any rate. Enjoy!_

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"Great," Callie said, throwing down her work in anger. "Now I'm going to be a renowned _lesbian?_ Everyone knows how much of a gossip Christina is, she'll tell the whole floor."

Mark shrugged. "That might not be a bad thing. There are a lot of hot nurses here."

"You would know." Callie shot back. Mark merely grinned in return.

For the briefest of moments joking with Mark about his whoreish prowess had made the day seem…normal. Like before everything went crazy enough to make Callie's teeth ache normal. She missed that phase of life; that short period between George-heartache and Erica-heartache.

If it were back then, Mark would shoot out some dumb, male reply and Erica would step into the room, putting Mark in his place and tell Callie that she wanted to eat out for lunch. Then, Mark would hit on Erica. As with every time, he would be rebuffed and Erica would leave, laughing still from the look she and Callie would share at Mark's expense. That was how things used to be.

Callie sighed, the short-lived smile that had appeared on her face slowly sank back down and she resumed her melancholy default. She longed for that time. Then she had talked to Erica. They had been honest with each other, more honest than they'd ever been with anyone else. They had taken pleasure screwing with Mark's head, sharing private jokes about him while he was in the room. He had made a big deal but she doubted he actually cared. He just naturally understood they meant him no real harm. Mark was like that.

He was looking at her again; she could feel it from the instinctive prickle as the hairs on the back of her neck raised. She knew from the silence that he was watching her, weighing her emotional state.

"I'm fine, really. I'm… I'm good." She said aloud though, whether she said it for his benefit or to reassure herself, she did not know.

She looked down at the project before her. She _would_ be fine. She had to be.

She felt Mark come up behind her and lay his hands on her shoulders. He squeezed lightly, massaging away miles of tension with his godsend-surgeon hands. There was nothing remotely romantic about the action. The normally lust-filled movements of Mark Sloan had tamed to that of a platonic friendship. Callie smiled. No one really knew how great of a friend Mark could be and not just for the casual, anytime sex thing. Mark had a keen sort of radar he used whenever someone he cared about was hurting. He just knew. He also, with some imperceptive instinct, knew just how to help. Sure he was a sleazy man-whore stuck in a perpetual hormone level comparable to that of a preteen boy but he also had a kind of sixth sense that guided him. It told him just how much to say and what words should be said. It told him what to do, how much to show or notice. He could tone down the horn-dog persona and take the time to be there for you. That's what Callie loved most about him; that's why, with all the insane shit she was going through, she was still able to function—if in a half-assed, impersonal zombie-doctor kind of way.

He had her back.

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Mark was worried about Callie. He downplayed it, sure, because if he didn't it would bug Callie and that was the last thing she needed. Besides, this was party his fault. He'd known it would be a bad idea to let Callie talk him into sleeping with her. Granted, it normally was a bad idea to sleep with him… fun, satisfying even, but always complicated. Still, he never seemed to have a problem getting the women he wanted to sleep with to come to him.

Truly, he was fairly well off in that department. And—he thought as he looked over to Callie—the friend department.

Callie saw him watching her and she attempted a smile. He returned the look for support. She was struggling. Her weak smile came out half-heartedly and it didn't quite reach her eyes. He knew she was trying at least but still, it hurt him to see her in so much pain.

People thought he was a heartless scumbag but he wasn't. He cared about people. And when he loved, he loved hard. He really did care about Callie. He cared about her more than almost anyone he knew. He had seen her go through so much, struggling with acceptance, relationships, trust and countless other troubles that no one as wonderful as she should ever have had to deal with. He couldn't put a finger on what it was about her that he liked the most. They were liked the best of friends with occasional benefits… There really was no way to make that sound okay but it was what it was and they seemed to get along just fine. Well, normally anyway.

"I'm fine, really. I'm… I'm good." Callie said to him, trying to console him. She wouldn't meet his eye, ashamed of her own weakness. She could be ridiculous like that sometimes. He got up, as quietly as possible and put his hands on her shoulders. His nimble fingers felt out the tensions and knots in her neck and shoulders and upper back. She was so stressed, beyond the point of being neurotic.

"C'mon," he said firmly, dragging her as best he could from whatever crap she was wallowing in inside her mind. "Let's go grab lunch." She looked at him hesitantly. "Look, I don't have a surgery for another three hours and you need food. We can figure out Pretzel Guy's bones over at Joe's. That way, if we get paged, we'll be right across the street." She opened her mouth to argue but he cut in, "Torres, we're going. My treat."

Callie smiled faintly and nodded. They agreed to meet by the locker rooms so he could pick up his wallet and she could get her coat.

As Mark watched Callie leave, he couldn't help but revel at her. He had never been so far gone as she was now but still, he knew that if he had dealt with all she had, he wouldn't be walking down the halls of the hospital with so much poise, let alone working or functioning at all. To be true, he would probably be at home, in bed, weeping. And Mark Sloan, Casanova of Seattle Grace, shaper of faces and breasts and any number of things did not weep.

On some plane, he felt responsible for the whole ordeal and it killed him. While he knew he was helping her along, relieving her of whatever pent up sexual frustration and possibly even, helping to redefine her sexual preference—he knew most of the credit for that one of course was all to Erica—he also knew he had inadvertently caused her pain. He had been the one to push them together and he had been the one to agree to sleep with Callie. He had no excuse for that one. He _knew_ her. He knew about her freak outs and he should have stopped her. It burned a guilty hole in him to think that had he stopped her for even five minutes more, she would have calmed down, come to her senses and still be with Erica. And then everything would be back to normal…

He shook his head. He couldn't do that to himself. Who knew what kind of shit they had bundled up in their mess of a relationship? For all he knew, the break up had nothing to do with him and his undisciplined libido.

Yeah, fat chance…

XXXXXX

_A/N 2: I can't help but feel that, with all the thinly veiled good stuff Mark does, he would be at least a semi-descent guy._

_Reviews make me type faster. :)_


	7. Simply a Witness

_A/N: A Bailey POV anyone? I debated whether or not to even put this one in. It is a bit of a far reach from the plot line and my initial typing of it started spinning off in confusing, OOC ways. However, it is here anyway. I do think having a look at Bailey's viewpoint is worth something. she is a great character and I always feel that there is so much more to her than we see. Anyway, here you go, enjoy as you will!_

_XXXXXX_

Bailey ran a no-nonsense policy through her residents—or, she tried to at any rate. Seattle grace had an inordinate amount of personal life meets professional life drama which seeped through the pores of the hospital. Grey and Shepherd slept around with each other; breaking up the latter's marriage in favor for their relationship. Their tale was something of legend within the halls of Seattle Grace, serving as an example, a model, and a warning for the various staff members. Then there was the George-Izzie-Callie triangle of horror. Intern-George marries Resident-Callie on the drop of a dime—and against the wished and warnings of his very smart and very correct co-workers might she add. Then, Intern-George sleeps with Intern-Izzie who also just happens to be his best friend. Then, Resident-Callie divorces Intern-George and uses Attending-Mark as a sex therapy object. The list went on and on, each relationship becoming more and more entangled with the next. To put it bluntly, if the board ever dared to suggest a no-fraternization rule at Seattle Grace, the hospital would have about one employee left: Bailey.

Much her colleagues' ignorance, Bailey kept up on what the riffraff was up to. She didn't want to be a part of any of it, Lord knows, but she kept an eye on her residents. The group of them caused enough trouble to keep anyone working overtime. She heard the rumors—whether she chose to believe them or not was irrelevant. The point was, she heard them. Most of the rumors were old news, finally reaching their way full-circle through the hospital. Granted, as almost all the drama of the hospital could easily be traced back to her former interns, she had probably heard them already.

On the larger scale, Bailey didn't much care for frivolities like rumors. She preferred cold, hard facts. She didn't have time to wonder at whatever the hell those dimwits were "supposedly" up to. If they were causing mischief, she wanted to know and she wanted to know for sure.

But she kept an ear out anyway, no matter how utterly ridiculous the things she heard were. It was her job. She was the mother hen. And when the personal screwed with the professional, Mother Hen gave the chickadees the business.

So it was to her immense irritation when the secret relationship between the orthopedics resident Callie Torres and Head of Cardio Erica Hahn had found its way into the already chaotic halls of her work environment. Now it was all anyone could buzz about. Two weeks ago, no big deal. Hell, even yesterday is wouldn't have been that big of a deal. Once you came around to the idea of it, the sight of Erica and Callie together just made sense; you could see it. But, as it were, what with Erica Hahn's sudden disappearance, it was no surprise that Callie was immediately under suspicion. 'Had she driven her away?'; 'They say that they had a fight, but what about?'; 'Is she gay now?'; 'So, Erica is gone for good?'; 'Wait, _Callie's_ gay?' All the whispers, the buzzing, the rumors flooded Seattle Grace's O.R.s, her Clinic, her E.R. It was like a virus and Bailey was sick of it. Couldn't they just let the poor girl be? Anyone could see she was taking the worse of the hit. Erica, wherever the hell she's run off to, was no doubt freely adapting to her new job, no gossipy nurses or interns to bother her. Bailey was an always had been a protector of her people, of her babies. While Callie wasn't normally considered one of those—Lord knows, the woman could protect herself—she needed it now more than ever. Bailey had gladly, therefore, taken it upon herself to threaten anyone who dared even mention the whole ordeal.

She figured, if she could deal, they could deal and that was that.

Sure, Bailey had had a hard time of it at the start. She had been shocked out of the water at Callie's abrupt confession of her date. Bailey knew as well as anyone how much keeping things inside hurt you, she got that. Still, it had been the last thing she ever could have expected to come from _Callie Torres_. Callie was the sort of person that Bailey knew very well to be a… very "loving" person. In the Biblical sense. Especially when it came to the male staff members of the hospital. Bailey had personally dealt with the irritatingly frequent sexual escapades of Callie and Mark Sloan as they commandeered the On-Call room time after time. And then, out of nowhere, it wasn't Callie and Mark. It was Callie and Erica, the aloof, impersonal cardiothoracic surgeon. Anyone who knew the two women separately would be dumfounded at the pair. They seemed to be such opposites. That was until you witnessed the looks Erica gave to Callie, the coy smile that played out across Callie's face whenever Erica walked in the room, the easy and casual joking way they went around the halls each day, neither taking a care in the world what anyone thought of them. No, having seen them together, Bailey doubted anyone could deny the mutual attraction. And hey, Bailey didn't judge. Black, white, Jewish, Christian, straight, gay; she didn't care either way.

Bailey's face softened as she remembered the panicked way Callie had faced her impending physical explorations with Erica. She'd been terrified. Bailey had had no choice but to help her out. She didn't have much personal experience with all the woman on woman sex… stuff but she figured, as a woman herself, she could try to look past that fact and give Callie the same pointers she hoped never to have to give to her son. She'd given her whatever skewed version of a generic first-time speech she could muster. Apparently, it had worked and for that, Bailey couldn't help but be a little proud.

But then Erica Hahn up and quit and Callie Torres came into work late with all the hopes and dreams of a dying animal. And she had retained that mood that could freeze hell itself for the better part of the day, so long as Bailey had seen her at least. The second she had spotted the broken woman, her Mama Bear complex kicked in. It wasn't her business, she knew that. She didn't know what kind of problems they may have been having and, to be quite honest, she didn't _want_ to know. So she'd calmed the defensive airs despite her want of nothing else to do but shake the living hell out of Erica until she could come up with a good enough excuse for hurting one of Bailey's people. Bailey might not show it all the time but she cared about her people. They were, after all, her people.

"Speak of the devil," Bailey muttered as Callie rounded the corner in a considerably better-looking mood. She was still pale, still struggling but she was doing better. Bailey watched with a shrewd eye as Sloan cracked a joke, succeeding in winning a faint smile from Callie. One look told her that that had been his mission all along.

_Good man_, she thought to herself. She watched a while longer, noting the many consecutive attempts toward the same mission. _You keep doing what you're doing, keep her going strong._

Bailey observed a lot each and every day she worked at the hospital. She saw the break ups, the fix ups. She saw the hook ups, and she saw the friendships. She witnessed them all; not commenting or interfering, simply witnessing. And she was pretty sure she liked it that way.

XXXXX

_A/N: Yes? No? Pointless? Poignant? Thoughts of any kind? Well, review then, silly!_


	8. Five Minutes

_A/N: A whole bunch of POV musical chairs on this and the next chapter. Enjoy._

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

"You should call her." Mark said biting into his apple. He was seated casually in the corner of the resident's lounge; a glossy gossip magazine lay open on his lap. He had monopolized the squishy armchair much coveted by all resting residents. Callie had asked him time and time again why he insisted on using the resident's lounge when the attending doctors had their very own—and better furnished—lounge in which to rest. He didn't really know himself. He liked it here though. It was quiet. Residents were over worked, too ready to go home by the end of the day or too tired not to use the on-call room for some real sleep. But today his motives were different. Today, he was here for her.

"I did call her. She ignored me. I left a message." Callie explained for the umpteenth time wearily. Her head was pounding. She gripped her temples, hoping to massage out the sharp jabs. She took back every good thought she had ever had about Mark; every good word she had ever said. As soon as he had decided she was "mentally stable"—when he told her this she had promptly replied that never had she been mentally _un_stable—Mark had gone into hyper drive, suggesting every other minute that she call Erica; that she get on a plane and go after Erica; to stake out Erica's apartment. No matter how many times Callie reminded him that she _had_ called her; that she didn't even know where Erica was—supposing the woman even wanted to see her which, she'd clearly made evident that she didn't—and that Erica was obviously not going back to her apartment and a stake out would be completely useless; he would not let up. He was becoming such a pain in the ass that she had begun counting down the hours, minutes and seconds until she was off duty and able to escape him.

Because of his behavior, though, she shouldn't have been the least bit surprised at what he did next. As it was, she hardly noticed as he pulled out his cell phone, dialing the number of the last woman Callie was in the mood to talk to.

XXXXX

Erica looked down at her phone and the unknown number that was flashing across its screen. It was probably someone from the hospital calling about some insignificant detail she was in no mood to deal with.

"Hahn speaking," she said, doing her best to keep her voice light and untroubled. Hopefully, the hollow tone that had recently entered her voice would not be audible.

"Heya, Hahn." came a cool male voice she would have recognized a mile away. She almost dropped the phone in alarm.

"Sloan? Wha—"

"Listen," he interrupted her, "I realize that I am probably the last person on Earth that you want to talk to right now," He had that right. Erica looked at the phone in disbelief. She should hang up, "But don't hang up, okay? I have to talk to you."

She paused. She really _should_ hang up. It was Sloan for God's sake. That man had brought her nothing but misery and trouble. Still, she couldn't help but dwell on that desperate tone in his voice. Oh what the hell. "I'm going to give you five minutes, Sloan. Five. I am even going to time you. I don't care what you say but five minutes from now, I'm gone."

XXXXX

Callie eyes just about popped out of her face. From the minute she'd heard McSlimey over there say those two words: "Hey, Hahn," she'd been out for blood.

How dare he call her? What did he expect to say to her? Why the hell would he ever think that she would talk to him or that his calling her would help matters at all? Mark turned to her, winking. Then it hit her.

She lunged.

Unfortunately, in doing so, Callie realized she'd made a big mistake. As daunting an enemy that she made to the commonplace opponent or female resident, she forgot who he was trying to tackle. So, in lunging, Callie slammed into a hard wall of solid muscle.

"Umph," she grunted, her hands flying on a mission of their own to find and destroy his phone.

With far too much ease than was morally fair, Mark held Callie away at an arm's distance—literally, _an arm_ as his second limb was currently handling the traitorous phone call.

_Of all the dirty, low brow, nasty, unfair, unnecessary things to pull—_

Mark released her, grinning triumphantly.

"Okay, Champ. You're up." He said as he tossed the phone to her.

Callie gaped at him. What? Now? Her? Talk? She could not form a coherent thought much less talk to her angry ex-lesbian lover. What the hell was she supposed to say to her? She silently argued with Mark, using a combination of mouthed curses and gestures. She tried several times to shove the object back to him but he always managed to avoid it.

Eventually, he got the better of her and wrestled his way to the door. He pointed to the phone and mouthed "Five minutes" before leaving Callie alone in the lounge with the phone.

Callie stared at the phone in her hand, her face a picture of terror. She should be talking. Why wasn't she talking? She held up the phone finally to her ear, trembling slightly, "H-hello?"

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

_A/N 2: Woah! Cliffhanger? No, not really. This chapter originally did not end here. I wrote the next chapter and this one as one big chapter. However, I didn't like the idea of a bunch of 1000 word chapters and a random 3k chapter. That would've been weird. _


	9. Taking the Leap

_A/N: This is it, the last (official) chapter. I will seriously miss this story. It flowed so smoothly. Ah well, all things must come to an end. On the other hand, I'm writing a sequel so maybe they don't have to after all... Enjoy :)_

_XXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Erica didn't have time for this. It wasn't as if she _wanted_ to talk to Sloan, she didn't. What she wanted to know was why he had been so keen to talk if he was only going to spend his first—carefully timed—minute in silence.

Erica waited a moment longer. This was probably some last minute prank of his; some childish last laugh to get a rise out of her. She should definitely hang up now.

What if it wasn't though? What if the playboy himself had something important to say?

No, that wasn't in his nature.

But, what if he was trying to change?

Erica shook her head irritably. This was driving her mad. If he didn't say something soon, she was going to—

"H-hello?" Erica froze. That was not Sloan. That was a woman's voice, _her_ woman's voice. Her mind reeled. She didn't want this; she didn't want to talk to Callie! Or… did she?

"Hello? Erica?" Erica's stomach twisted and fluttered with butterflies as she heard her name spoken by the woman on the other end of the line.

She had to reply. "Callie? Uh…  
>Oh God, what should she say? What did someone say to the person they rudely abandoned in a parking lot at midnight, "Well, uh… You're not Sloan." Oh shit. What the hell did she say that for? Of course Callie wasn't Sloan! Sloan was sleazy and repulsive and Callie beautiful and sweet and—<p>

"No, uh… he had a… uh,… surgery," came Callie's voice.

XXX

Callie winced. "a…uh,… surgery"? Erica wasn't an idiot. Callie should be playing cool not stuttering like some mentally unstable hamster.

"Oh." was Erica's reply.

Oh God. She was already irritated. Callie racked her brain. What did she say now?

And before she knew it, the last thing Callie wanted to say came flying out of her mouth: "You didn't answer your phone this morning." She winced. Ah fuck. Well, that did it, Erica wouldn't want to talk to her now.

XXXX

Erica opened her mouth to reply but shut it again. What could she say? 'Oh yeah, I ignored you so you wouldn't call me again, you know, like this.' Sure. That would end splendidly.

"Yeah," she said instead, "I was packing boxes and I couldn't… I couldn't find my phone."

There was another pause on the line. Then, "But you didn't call me back after the voicemail."

Now Erica paused. A voicemail? What voicemail? She said it out loud.

XXXX

Callie couldn't help it. She laughed. 'What voicemail?' After she pours her heart out… Maybe she'd do better getting a reply from the damn machine recording woman.

Callie couldn't stop laughing and she didn't know why. Maybe it was because she'd had such rotten luck with relationships before and now, for the first time she wanted to fix one and it just blew up in her face. Maybe it was because she remembered how hard and painful it had been to say those words to Erica, to pour her heart out like that—even if they had been indirect—and the woman hadn't even heard them. Or maybe it was relief; relief that Erica was talking to her even having not heard the message. Maybe that was it. She didn't know.

XXXX

Erica heard her laughing. She loved Callie's laugh, she always had even before they'd become friends. But right now, that laugh was scaring her. She didn't know what to say or do in response to it. She didn't understand what the laugh meant, but she wanted to know. It startled Erica to realize that she truly did want to know, to understand.

"Callie," she tried but Callie was too far gone. "Callie!"

She stopped dancing. An awkward silence resumed in the call and Erica couldn't help but wish for the happy noise to come back.

"Why were you laughing?" she asked.

"I have no idea." Callie answered.

More silence. It was driving her nuts.

"What was on the message?" Erica asked quietly after a time. She didn't want to scare Callie away—a fact that had her head all confused—but she could not sit in silence any longer.

XXXX

Callie didn't know how to answer her. What was there to say to someone who had told you that she didn't know you, that she didn't ever want to see you again? Erica didn't want to talk to her. She didn't want to deal with her or hear her or…love her. So what was there to say? She couldn't just blurt out 'I just left you a message saying that I'm sorry for whatever and surprise! I'm madly in love with you. Take m e back, please,' No, she couldn't say that. She couldn't force that on Erica. But, at the same time, she couldn't stand the casual banter. It was driving her mad. She couldn't waste any more time throwing cavalier small talk back and forth, ignoring the thinly veiled lies they kept using.

Callie took a deep breath. Erica wanted to know. She was a grown woman and she wanted to know. Callie had to tell her.

"Erica," Callie started, five million sirens going off in her head warning her to back away and stop talking. But she couldn't stop. It might hurt Erica, yes, but she wanted to know. She deserved to know. She _needed_ to know. Or, at least, Callie needed her to know. "I am… in love with you." She closed her eyes tightly. She had to keep her head through this for Erica. She couldn't freak out. "I know it really doesn't seem like it, what with all that crazy shit I pulled but I do. I do love you." She heard her voice growing in volume and in strength. She would get through this. "And I know you're not interested. I get that, but I needed you to know how I feel. I needed you to realize that all that stuff I did or said; it was wrong. It was me being scared, me being terrified at the idea of me and you." Callie laughed softly, "You were so much stronger than I was, Erica, so much more together. You just flipped your switch and figured it all out at once. You said you were scared, you probably were, but you didn't act like it. You were so calm and confident and that scared the hell out of me. What if I wasn't? What if I wasn't ready? I thought that if I let you get too far ahead of me I would lose you." She laughed again, "Funny how I tried to avoid it and just ended up screwing everything up instead." She paused. Erica hadn't said anything, she hadn't breathed. "I know you don't want to be with me. You told me that and I get that, I do. But you also said that you didn't know me, that you couldn't understand me anymore. Well, that was me: a wreck. I'm so sorry for what I did to you. I can't forgive myself and I don't expect you to either."

XXX

Erica was silent. She was dumbstruck. Her mind was blown. She felt so many feeling billow up inside her; so many desires and thoughts and urges. She didn't know which to follow. Callie _had_ hurt her. That was so true. But even after all that, Erica couldn't get her out of her head. She couldn't change the fact that the scent of shampoo Callie always used was her favorite smell. She couldn't help that the only sound she ever wanted to hear was Callie's laughter. She couldn't help that every time she closed her eyes she saw her, the woman she could not get out of her thoughts and dreams. Callie was still with her even despite everything that had happened. But, there was so much they were completely unprepared to deal with; so much that were they to rekindle their relationship would undoubtedly go wrong.

Erica looked around the bland hotel room desperately, searching in vain for some kind of answer to her troubles. Instead, she found the alarm clock into which she had programmed the allotted five minutes for Sloan. It had been long forgotten, whatever insignificant noise it was supposed to make had been drowned out by the intense conversation at hand. She shook her head. The conversation she was completely ignoring.

She stumbled over a few words, trying to form a response she hadn't even thought up yet. "Callie… I…"

"Its fine, Erica. I know what I did."

Erica was silent again. She digested Callie's words, reveling at the woman who had spoken them. It was so unlike her to be this calm and rational. It was reassuring in a way; reaffirming and hot and… terrifying all at once. Erica listened to the calm, even rhythm of Callie's breathing. It was then that she knew. She wanted that. She wanted to wake up every morning to that rhythm, to Callie breathing beside her. She wanted to come home at night, exhausted from a hard day's work and hear Callie's laughter; the laughter that soothed every molecule of her being. She wanted Callie Torres.

"So do I," She said, smiling.

XXXX

Callie was resigned to the inevitable. She knew what the long, empty pauses meant. She'd been there before.

She'd come to learn what blank silence signified. She knew the calculating pauses, the calm before the storm. She knew what was coming next and she readied herself for the pain of the rejection to come.

"So do I," she heard from the other end of the line.

Wait, what?

Callie felt like her head was going to explode. Five million things flew around her mind all drawing various conclusions and questions. She gaped into the phone, speechless. She'd been so sure that… but what _had_ Erica meant?

"I know what I did too, Callie," Erica continued. Callie's mouth hung open. "I was too fast, too blunt. You were confused and struggling but I just sped along, not caring that I was leaving you behind, unprepared. I thought originally that you not talking to me was on you but I didn't step out to talk to you, did I? I let the excitement of m newfound lifestyle make me forget about you. I let Sloan get to me." She laughed bitterly before quietly continued. "I took your hesitations as a personal insult, like you didn't want to be with _me_. I was so ready to accept myself that I never stopped to think that maybe you hadn't done the same. I pressed harder, fighting for you where I should have backed off and given you space and time to think. I didn't realize at the time that you weren't adverse to me per say but you were scared of the change. I let that anger at Stevens, at the hospital all mesh in with my hurt from you and my hate for Sloan and I threw it all at you. You weren't even ready to accept yourself and I asked the world of you." She stopped. Callie could hear her sniffle. She was crying. "Callie, I won't pretend that your thing with Sloan was okay. It wasn't. I won't even pretend that I fully understand why you did it. All I can say is that… that I do love you. I love you, Callie Torres. I tried not to; god, I tried. But, even after all that, I still do. I cannot help but think that if that is true; if all I think about is you, then why wouldn't we be together?" She chuckled lightly, "Callie, you're the voice in my head every day. You're the first thing I think of when I wake up in the morning and you're the only thing I dream about at night. I can't help the way I feel about you." Erica paused again. Callie couldn't help, even midst her shock, but long to hear more. "My brother taught me something when I was very little; something I have utilized every day since. He taught me to learn from my mistakes, to use them to guide me through the future. I want to learn from my mistakes, Callie. I want_ us _to learn by our mistakes."

XXXX

Erica stopped talking. It was done. All she had left to do was to wait for Callie's response. To borrow a phrase from her family: "The ball is in her court." Only, this wasn't a game and Callie wasn't her opponent. Erica hoped Callie would be her partner instead.

XXXX

Callie opened her mouth about a hundred times—or so it seemed to her—in those few seconds of waiting.

Looking back, it had seemed so much longer, so much more dynamic. She could practically hear the chilling chords so often played in the ridiculous soap opera scenes, directing their scene through a soundtrack.

But at that particular moment, she wasn't thinking about soundtracks or music or soap operas. In fact, she didn't know if she was thinking about much of anything at all.

"Callie?" Erica called softly after a minute had passed and she still had not said a thing.

It was her voice that had done the trick. It broke the spell. Erica's low voice, with its quiet rasp, broke through Callie's mind and body. All at once, she came back to herself.

"Erica Hahn," she said emphasizing each word for effect, "Get your ass back to Seattle Grace before I come to wherever the hell you are and drag you back myself."

Erica took that as a yes.

There was a lull, both women smiling in their own bliss, unconscious of the empty air. Then, in the blink of an eye, both were laughing just as easily as before. They laughed together, gasped for breath together and wiped the tears from their eyes together; assured finally, that everything was going to be alright.

XXXX

Mark looked in on Callie laughing happily. He smiled. It was about time they fixed their mess. He shook his head, they were ridiculous. Just as he debated entering the room to talk to Callie—to give her one big "told you so," was more like it—his beeper went off. Work time now, play time later. He cast his best friend one last look, making a mental note to dig for all the information after his surgery.

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXx_

_A/N 2: I like Mark as the perpetual observer of their relationship. I feel that while he acts so pig-headed to Callie about it, he really has her best interests at heart. Anyway: Sequel. Coming to fanfictions near you. I have parts written already and I'll begin typing when I get enough to really solidify the plot line. I imagine it will be a lot longer than this one though so tune in!_

_Reviews make me write faster. Which is good._


	10. Epilouge: Falling

_A/N: That's all, folks! This is set a while after the whole story (such as in movies or TV where they flash forward to several weeks later or whatnot) and is in fact an Erica POV. The second bit is not however, beig the closing end of the monolouge (continuing the Grey's homage). Well, enjoy it! _

_XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX_

Erica walked through the hospital doors with little trepidation. She welcomed the sterile scents, the faint beeping of the machines that measured patients' vitals and the hustle and bustle of the doctors racing about to their various tasks. She belonged here.

Dr. Webber, Chief of Surgery, rushed over to greet her. He sputtered his gratitude at her reconsidering her transfer and she let him. Not for her, she didn't need to hear it, but for him. Nowadays, the once rascal of a surgeon seemed to thrive by sucking up to pros. It was sad but Erica didn't have time to dwell on it.

As he finished, she walked on, passing the clear glass rooms of the patients and the random, misplaced beds of those who had recently been discharged. She passed the E.R., with its screams and cries of pain seeping through the doors. She saw the clinic with its ragtag cluster of walk-ins. She walked by Trauma with the formidable if slightly unorthodox Dr. Hunt. She saw various faces she knew running or walking by. Dr. Yang gaped at her as she walked on, an expression like Christmas come early on her face. Erica continued through the hospital, remembering things, seeing things, watching for the only person she had eyes for.

Then she saw her: Callie Torres, leaning against the surgical board and talking to Miranda Bailey. Erica paused, just watching her for the time being. She felt a smile grow on her face involuntarily as she looked at the woman she'd been stupid enough to almost let go.

Callie turned at that moment and spotted her, a huge grin blossoming on her face.

Yeah, things were going to be alright. They would get over their difficulties. They would the way they always had before.

XXX

We take for granted the importance of relationships on the human body. We don't bother to think about the effect love can have on us. Your heart can race, your breath can catch, your pulse can speed up, and you begin to excrete hormones with increasing speed. Your mind goes fuzzy, unable to think rationally. Your self-preservation instincts get jarred, forcing yourself to put someone else's life before your own willingly. You near the edge of a cliff and you have to make a decision: jump into the fray, the unknown or turn around and walk away.

There is no insurance policy on love, no safety net to catch us when we do fall. But that is not important; what is important is that we fall, that we jump, that we love.

_XXXXXXXXXXXX_

_A/N 2: Short, sweet, to the point. That works for me, how about you? Please do review. It's not just some vain plea, I have no way of knowing how my writing is holding up without you lovely people to tell me my faults._

_I will update the sequel eventually but until then, Bien dit!_


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